Stress Reliever
by Keeter
Summary: Gibbs blows off some steam the only way he knows how.


**Stress Reliever**

**Disclaimer: ** Gibbs is the property of the makers and creators of NCIS and/or CBS. Actually I'm not sure who has the rights but it's not me and I'm making no money from this. Also, the words in bold italics are the actual Rifleman's Creed of the United States Marine Corps.

**Author's Note:** All US Marines are first and foremost Riflemen. They are trained from day one how to handle and use a rifle properly and accurately. PMI stands for Post Marksman Instructor. A spotter is the one who's beside the shooter, with a high-powered scope, comfirming the shot. Getting the dope on the rifle means adjusting its sights from its zeroed position so that it fires accurately in the current conditions. A kill-book is quite literally, a written record of a sniper's confirmed kills as well as possibles and shots fired.

_

* * *

**This is my rifle. There are many like it but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I master my life.**_

* * *

Wrap the sling around your left arm once, starting from the inside, and hug the butt tight in against your right shoulder…the old mantra coming back to him. Right hand near the trigger guard, left hand cradling the barrel. Adjust the sight, twist the knob one click up, two to the left, until the target is in sharp focus in your scope. The cross-hairs line up dead center of the target. Both eyes open. Inhale, exhale, inhale, wait for your heart to beat, exhale, beat, get into the rhythm, inhale, beat, exhale and bring your sight down over your target slowly, hold your breath, beat, fire…_

* * *

**My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than any enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will…**_

* * *

The sound of the shot still echoes off the hills. Lightly grasp the lever with the right hand, bring the bolt up and back, ejecting the spent cartridge. Push forward and down, loading another round and locking the bolt in place. All the while, never moving your left arm from its cradling position. He remembers his PMI acting as his spotter during basic training, teaching him how to get the right dope on his rifle. "Never hold your breath for more than seven seconds, the cross-hairs start to blur…it's all about survival…the heart and then the head are your prime targets…aim for the heart first, it's the bigger target."_

* * *

**My rifle and myself know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit…**_

* * *

Off center to the right…the wind is steady today. Adjust for windage, one click back to the left, focus the sight once more. Inhale, beat, exhale, beat, inhale, beat, exhale, hold your breath, down over your target, beat, fire…_

* * *

**My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weakness, its strengths, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will…**_

* * *

No scope back then, just the iron sights on the rifle. And no lock bench to zero it either, sometimes not even sandbags. Just your arms and your body in a prone position, shooting round after round after round, striving for the closest grouping…the target only 200 yards away. Today's is 500 yards out. He's fired thousands of rounds with this very rifle, some in action, most in training. He stopped counting when he reached 1000, halfway through specialist training at Camp Geiger. His tally in his kill-book, thankfully, is far less.

* * *

_**Before God I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life.**_

* * *

Still a bit to the right, one click left again. He takes the scope off the stock...he was always better with just the iron sights anyway. He allows himself to take a deep breath in and closes his eyes as he does. He can tell you his heart rate just by the sound of it in his ears. He opens his eyes on the exhale, once more bringing the barrel to bear over the target…beat, fire…

* * *

_**So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but Peace.**_

* * *

He smiles, knowing that he's hit his mark dead center without even looking through the scope. Reaching over, Gibbs picked up three empty, brass shells, and stood. All of his frustrations from the passed week are gone as he heads back to his car. 


End file.
